


Keep a smile in your locker (make sure to hold on to the key)

by moorglade



Series: An Officer and a Submissive [7]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - D/s, Angst, Pre-Canon, Sub John Sheppard, Submissive-ist attitudes in a D/s universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 11:17:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moorglade/pseuds/moorglade
Summary: The Air Force had put John through college, and finally he'd got the chance to give something back: his first session of morale duty.





	

John is twenty-two years old, a newly-commissioned second lieutenant who still can’t stop touching the rank insignia on his shoulders. He can’t stop grinning every time his new wrist cuff catches on his uniform. He belongs to the USAF now, and he’s so excited to serve his country he can barely breathe.

He showers and shaves, then examines himself carefully in the mirror. He’s about to report for his first ever session of morale duty, and he wants to look his absolute best. He does his hair, braiding it tightly in the elaborate style that every fashionable sub is wearing this season, and ties it back with one of his newly-issued set of Air Force Blue ribbons. John’s never been a fan of fastening his hair that way, not when it makes him feel like a prize-winning pony, but for today he doesn’t mind. This isn’t an adornment: it’s part of his new uniform.

For the last four days he’s been studying the morale files of his new unit, trying to prepare himself to offer the best service that he can. John knows that his CO likes her coffee black, no sugar, but that she’d rather be offered sweet snacks than savoury ones. He’s memorised Captain Richards’ three favourite poems. Lieutenant Mizuki likes music, and although John would rather have his guitar, the Air Force prefers the dulcimer. So he’s brushed up on his technique and polished it carefully, and a pack of spare strings are sitting in his back pocket.

He takes a long, deep breath, then hurries to the officers’ mess. John’s been preparing for this moment all his life, since he came into his dynamic and realised that there was only one way a submissive could serve their country. He’s going to be the best morale sub his unit has ever seen.

John puts out a hand, almost giddy with eagerness, and taps on the door.

-

Two and a half hours later, he’s back in his own quarters again. The door doesn’t lock, of course, but as the only officer who’s a sub, the only sub who’s an officer, he has a room of his own at the end of the subs’ corridor.

Slowly, methodically, John takes his uniform off, folding it the way he’s been taught. He pulls the ribbon out of his hair, combing out the complicated braids. Then he picks up his towel, and goes into the shower. No top would come uninvited into a sub’s room, and even if they did, there’s a security camera just outside. Tops need their privacy and their own space, but it’s more important that subs are kept safe.

As the morale sub, John has special permission to use as much hot water as he needs. His job is to look pretty and remind the tops commanding his unit what they are fighting for. His beauty routine matters. No one is going to care if he spends an hour in the shower, or even all night, so long as he's in the mess hall at 0600, to give each top a smile and a compliment with their delicious, nutritious, beautifully presented breakfast.

He turns the water on as hot as it will go, which isn’t very, and sits on the floor, letting it pour down his back. Only then does he start to shake.

Eventually the fog in John's brain begins to evaporate, and he reluctantly drags himself to his feet and begins to wash. He tells himself that nothing happened. He tells himself he's alright. He can’t make himself believe it. And yet, he’s made his bed, and now he must lie in it. The Air Force put him through college, and in exchange he belongs to them for the next four years. 

John gets out of the shower, towels off, and gets into bed. He lies there staring into the dark, seeing a room full of tops laughing and joking, and continually testing each other’s dominance. He sees himself being pulled down into one lap after another, while other hands stroke his hair, and touch his back and shoulders, and no one cares about any of his skills beyond the fact he’s pretty.

He’s always loved being petted.

He doesn’t think he ever wants to be touched again.

Somehow he’d got through it, blocking out the noise and the touching and all the comments about how shy he was, and how he’d soon warm up and be a bit more friendly. No one, he thinks with a kind of numb sickness, was trying to make him uncomfortable. They were simply tops being tops, and expressing their dominance over the one submissive who unquestionably belonged to the entire unit.

Just before he’d been dismissed for the night, John’s CO had had him sit down beside her. She’d patted his knee, and told him that he’d done really well for his first time. She’d told him that it was best to experience group morale duty as soon as possible, and that she was proud of him for being such a good boy.

John never let a top call him that again.


End file.
